


A Failed Helping Hand

by Ouranos



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ouranos/pseuds/Ouranos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets sent into an alternate future. He is pleasantly surprised by what he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Failed Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I left out the whole eye-flash-when-you-take-picture thing.

A failed helping hand.

 

 

 

No matter how often it may have happened, Stiles Stilinski had never got used to finding people in his bedroom. The girl in front of him was no exception. She was wearing light blue jeans and a thick black hoodie, sleeves rolled up to reveal skinny arms with strange symbols on them. Symbols never meant anything good, Stiles thought. Ever. 

Her hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and she wore a nervous expression. Her eyes were opened wide. Her face was somewhat angular, and together with her straight thick eyebrows it made her look forceful. She immediately held her hands in front of her, a calming gesture.

“Stiles.” 

“What the hell? What are you doing in my house?” He took a few steps back. “Who are you?” It came out kind of panicky. Stiles decided in that second that instead of talking to her, he should get to a phone and call someone, anyone. But no sooner had he reached the door did it almost slam against his face. He turned back around. 

She looked sorry. But also determined.

“Stiles, please listen to me. You don’t know me, and I realize this is somewhat unusual. But I swear, I’m not here to hurt you,” she said. Her voice was very calm as well, but her eyes betrayed her. Stiles could see she was nervous.

“That’s not too convincing, considering, you know, you broke into my house.” He tried to slip his phone out of his pocket, but the movement caught her eye and she said  
  
“Please, don’t call anyone, I swear I’m not evil!”

Stiles didn’t really feel like testing whatever other neat tricks she had up her sleeves, so he stopped. His bat was downstairs. The phone was as well. She was standing in front of the window, the only alternate escape route.

“Will you sit down?” She was very polite to be a criminal.

Stiles’ eyes followed her as he slowly walked over to his bed and sat down. She moved, equally slowly, towards his desk and sat down in his desk chair. 

She straightened her back and looked him in the eye.

“I’ve thought about this long and hard, and I’ve come up with no other option to tell you than to just go right ahead and say it,” she said.

Stiles didn’t know what to think of this. His mind was still thinking of ways to get himself out of here. “Okay…,” he answered, unsure. His eyes flickered around the room. His computer was turned off for once and his room was dead silent. The rest of the house was also quiet. He heard a car pass by. 

“Right. So. As you probably have figured out, I’m good with magic. I have a brother who is the same. We moved here only a couple of days ago, and ever since, I’ve had a distinctly bad feeling. Like something has been following us. Something supernatural.” She swallowed and continued. “We see and hear strange things in the dark, and I figured we were dealing with something bad. As I said, I’m good with magic, and I’m especially good at manipulating time. So I used my powers to catch a glimpse into the future, and I saw you. You and a whole group of other people who were helping us with… everything. But I also saw everything going wrong, and I..,” she took a breath, “I saw my brother getting killed by that thing, that monster that was following us. You and the others were fighting and yelling and everything was going wrong.”

By now, her story had confused him so entirely, he forgot to think about possible escape routes.

“That thing attacks my brother and me and we realize we’re not strong enough. We go to you for help, because we know about werewolves. But even then, he dies. It took me a lot of tries, and a lot of patience to see clearly what happens in the future and I figured out what the problem was. You. Your group-pack-whatever. The problem is, you aren’t one.”

Stiles had started gawking. 

“I know this doesn’t make much sense-,”

“Much? Try any,” Stiles said.

She clamped her hands together. “Maybe it would help if I showed you what I was talking about.” She stood up and approached him. The desk chair bumped against the table.

“Whoa, hey, let’s not-,” before he could finish his sentence, her hand was touched his temple and flashes came before his eyes. He saw someone lying on the ground, he saw the girl bent over the body. He saw Scott and Allison, shouting at each other. He saw Derek yelling at Scott. He saw Isaac looking horrified, looking at the boy on the ground. He heard “ _Why didn’t you do as we talked about?”_ answered by a loud “ _We didn’t agree on our plans! You just went right ahead and-,”_ interrupted by “ _Stop shouting! This is not helping anyone!”_ Booming voices and shell-shocked faces and crying and then he was back in his room.

“What the hell was that?” he spluttered. He backed away from her, and she quickly retrieved her hand.

“That was the future. Not too long from now.” She walked back over to the chair and dropped herself down with a sigh. Her eyes rested on the floor.

“Jesus.” Things were silent for a while. He couldn’t get the scene out of his head. What he had seen looked and felt real, even though it had happened in flashes. It was sharper and clearer than a dream, but different from reality. He hadn’t ever experienced something like that. 

She spoke. “I need this to go another way. I can’t let this happen. But I get it now. I understand what went wrong. But I’m afraid you won’t understand if I just tell you. I need to show you. I want to show you an alternate future, not one that is set in stone.”

Stiles was starting to get extremely nervous. He scratched his head, and looked around for anything that could help him. But he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. This was unreal. The girl looked a few years older than him. Her angular face looked young, but her eyes were sad. She lifted her head and looked at him. A frown had appeared on her face, and it as quickly disappeared as she said the following words: “I know you don’t trust me, and you probably don’t believe me, but I don’t mean you any harm. I don’t. I just want to save my brother. I can’t lose him. I can’t. I’m not gonna…” 

Her words trailed off. She looked as if she was trying to pull herself together. Unfortunately, Stiles knew all too well what it felt like losing someone. Not a day went by without a thought of his mother.

Outside, the sky was slowly turning dark, a beautiful deep blue. He didn’t know what to believe. It wouldn’t be the first time someone pretended to be someone they weren’t. Why would she choose him, though? Why not go to Scott or Derek or Allison or Isaac? Probably too dangerous. He was the safe bet.

He heard Lea’s intake of breath. “You’ll be future you. You won’t be able to talk about your being from the past, and that’s my intention. I want you to look, and listen. Only then will you understand what needs to happen.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I haven’t said yes to this!” Stiles said hastily. “I barely know anything about you. Not even your name!”

“Lea. And I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you a choice. I need you to see this.” She walked over to him and touched his hands quickly, which he suddenly couldn’t move anymore. They were clasped together, and it almost seemed as if they were made of marble, white and unmoving.

“Hey, stop! Please, I’m sure we can figure something out!” his voice went a couple of pitches higher and grew louder.

“I can’t risk that. I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles tried to get up, but he felt as if something was holding him down.

“I know this probably means nothing, but, please, it’ll be okay, nothing bad will happen. You won’t be there for long. I promise.” Lea looked sorrowful.

Stiles struggled. He yelled, but of course no one heard him. He was home alone, and the neighbors were too far out to pick up on it. She started speaking words he understood nothing of. A breath, a pause and then she uttered some final words. 

Everything was dead quiet.

Except after he blinked, she was gone. He blinked second time, and his hands were free. He could move his body again. He jumped up. White spots started appearing in front of him, and soon everything faded into white. Warmth spread through his body and the whiteness got brighter. Stiles walked across his bedroom towards his door, but before he reached it, everything had gone white. He didn’t feel the doorknob where it was supposed to be, nor did his hands discover the doorframe or the light switch. The brightness was starting to hurt his eyes. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes. He opened them and he couldn’t even see his own body anymore. He touched his arms, his face, his chest, which all seemed to be intact. Was he going blind? His heart was beating frantically and his breathing got heavier. The warmth got intense. A dull throbbing in his head turned into pounding. He could hear his heartbeat. His own voice seemed to drown behind a wall of nothingness. It was as if someone had stuffed his ears with cotton balls.

And then the brightness faded, and slowly familiar shapes swam into his vision. He swallowed a few times and he hears clicks in his ears. He could hear normally again. With wobbly legs he walked over to his bed. He didn’t realize he was losing consciousness and he stumbled forward, softly landing on the pile of covers.

 

 

 

\--- 

 

 

 

A ray of sunlight woke him up. He blinked. 

No sooner than five seconds later was his face almost squished against the mirror in the bathroom down the hall. Two eyes check, nose check, lips check, hair … different. Longer. Sticking out in all directions. His flighty departure caught up and … _oh… head rush_. He plopped down on the edge of the bathtub. His head was throbbing. He couldn’t believe it. Five minutes were spent just sitting, mind racing as he tried to remember yesterday as clearly as possible. Girl. Time-travel. Crazy dreams? He touched and pinched his body all over. Still the way he remembered it. He stumbled back to his room, looking for his phone, which was nowhere to be found. He checked the pockets of his pants, his hoodie, went through his bag he picked up from the floor – which was still the same one he had used yesterday- but nothing. Hands frantically skimmed the surface of his messy desk, but no dice either.  
 _Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._ He ran downstairs, reached the fridge with alarming speed after tripping over his own feet, only to find the calendar in front of his nose telling him that it was August 2017.  It wasn’t winter. It wasn’t 2014. His mind was swimming. 

He glanced over at the clock next to the kitchen window: three in the afternoon. It was extremely bright outside, and it looked even hotter than it felt inside. A sheen of sweat covered his face.

“Okay.. Okay,” he mumbled to himself. “Okay, focus. Focus. What do you remember?” Lea had said she would send him to a possible future. What? _What? What the hell_?! He needed to find out exactly what was going on.  He needed to reach Scott. He grabbed the phone and called Scott. The call didn’t go through. A yellow post-it on the table caught his attention.

_Going to the station a bit earlier. Be back around 6. –Dad_

Stiles walked over to the wall where the black telephone hung. He called the station, nervously tapping his fingers against his cheek while he waited for his Dad to pick up.

“Hey, kid."

Relief flooded through him. “Dad! Oh, thank God you’re there”

“Well, yeah, of course I’m at _my job_. What’s going on?”

“Listen, somethi-,” all of a sudden, his voice stopped working. His throat closed up, and no sound emerged. He coughed.

“Yesterday whe-,” the same thing happened. He didn’t make any weird sounds, it just sounded like he was starting to say something, and then he wasn’t. He rubbed his throat.  

His dad’s voice sounded through the plastic, “What?”

Stiles took a breath, “I don’t know! I was saying that when-,” Okay this just wasn’t funny.

“I-,” _can’t speak! Someone was in my room yesterday, and it was 2014 and now it’s 2017 and I think she threw me a couple years into the future, and crap! I can’t speak!_

“Son, are you all right?” His dad sounded worried.

“No broken bones, all limbs intact, yes.” Okay. That worked. He was about to try anew, but even before he got a word out, his vocal cords didn’t respond anymore. He cleared his throat a couple of times. _I’m from the past._ Nothing. _I think a witch messed up my timeline._ Nothing. Something else then. “My favorite candy is maltesers,” he shouted. A little too loudly.

“That’s… great, son. Are you sure you’re okay?”

_No, I’m from the fucking past!_

“What day is it, exactly?”

His dad waited a second before answering. “August 3rd, why?”

“Right, of course. August 3rd\- ” _2017?_ Seriouly? He couldn’t even say _that_? This little _trick_ wouldn’t even let him question the date!

“Stiles, did you bang your head against the door again?” 

“No, no, I didn’t. I’ll just, uh, lie down for a bit or something. Can I come down later?” Stiles just needed to see his father in the flesh.

“Sure, there’s not too much going on anyways. Is six okay? I don’t really feel like cooking, do you feel like eating at Lucy’s?” It was his dad’s favorite diner in Beacon Hills.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll, uh, be there.”

“All right. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’ll be fine.” _Just need to find out what the fuck is going on_. “Bye, dad.”

He put the phone down on the receiver. He went to the front door and opened it. His jeep was still there. Still blue. Still a bit dented. He raked his hands through his hair. The sound of crickets chirping was loud. It was hot. The air was stuffy. He went back upstairs. The room he’d slept in his entire life was a lot emptier than it had been yesterday. Some of his books seemed to be missing, his closets were somewhat emptier, a poster on the wall wasn’t there anymore, and his desk lamp was a different one. The picture frame on his desk still held the same photo: him and Scott clad in their lacrosse gear, smiling like idiots. But there was another frame on he desk. It was a picture of a group of people sitting at a table, smiling at the camera with piles of food in front of them. He recognized them all: Scott, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, and… Derek. A pleasant expression on his face without a trace of hostility and/or anger. He wasn’t in the picture himself, so he must have taken it. Unfortunately, Stiles realized, he didn’t possess any memories of his future self. He let himself fall face down on his bed, limbs outstretched and taking up all the space. He looked like a sad starfish. _Jesus. What have I gotten into now?_

 

A while later he got up, looking for a newspaper that might shed some –or any- light on when he was. Or how. Or something. He easily spotted it, but what he found dumbfounded him. The letters were complete gibberish. It didn’t even seem to be a different language, just gibberish. Another mojo effect? He moaned. Come on!

He went to the TV in the living room and turned on the news. It was around three thirty in the afternoon. But the lady –the same lady- presenting the news wasn’t making any sense. Literal gibberish. _Seriously?_ It reminded him of that one year he had taken up French in school. He hadn’t understood a single thing the entire year, and had had to conclude the French language was not one of his many academic talents. What he saw on the screen resembled a badly dubbed movie. Her mouth was doing one thing, the sound another. Gibberish.

That gave him an idea. He ran upstairs and grabbed his iPhone from his desk. Good, he still made ‘Best of anno …’. He clicked on Best of 2016. Gibberish titles! At first he thought what he heard was actual music, then he realize it was just nonsense talking accompanied with weird noises. It freaked him out, and he almost threw the thing across the room. 

Great, so that’s how the magic worked. 

He still had about two and a half hours to try to come up with a way back before he had to get to his Dad’s. Of course! Deaton. How could he not have thought of him before?

In the kitchen he hastily downed some food and water before grabbing the keys to his jeep –still hanging in the same spot next to the mirror in the hallway. But, considering his luck, it shouldn’t have surprised him to find a notice on the door saying Deaton was not available for now, in case of emergency please call Scott McCall. Great. Just great. He drove over to Allison’s house. No one was home. Great.

Same with Lydia. Where was everyone? He drove back home and tried their cells, but they weren’t picking up either. Stiles stumbled around the house for about half an hour before he had to leave again. Nothing much seemed changed in his house. Hardly anything, really. The ugly black stain in the laundry room was gone. The stain on the carpet in the living room was still there. His dad’s bedroom door still creaked. They had a new clock in the kitchen. Two new magnets on the fridge. One of a restaurant called ‘Bloody Beans’ and the other one a little moon and sun. His own door still had a little dent at the bottom left corner. He still kept old videogames neatly stacked in his closet. It was overwhelming yet comforting.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

 

His dad was sitting opposite him in a red booth. Two tall glasses of water were placed on the sticky table in front of them. By now, Stiles was infuriatingly frustrated. Hundreds of timeshe’d tried to say something. He couldn’t even open his mouth anymore. He couldn’t wave his hands in front of his Dad. What was this magic doing? One moment talkative as can be, the next immobile as a statue and mute. He kept on trying. _I don’t understand what’s going on._ Nope. _Something’s wrong, dad._ Nope. _I’m from the PAST._ Nope. _I’m an alien!_ Nope. _There’s a girl named Lea who swooshed me three years ahead into the future._ Nope _Time travel, Dad! Of all things! I can’t believe it._ Nope _. Yohoo, Dad! Don’t you notice anything different or weird?_ Nope. Meanwhile, the Sheriff was studying the menu, oblivious to his son’s distress. Stiles thought he must’ve looked red as a tomato.

“I think I’ll get the Caesar salad, just to please you, son.” His Dad smiled. The Sheriff didn’t seem to notice anything weird.

“Ah, thanks, Dad,” Stiles answered. Vocal chords intact and all. The previous feeling of constriction had evaporated into thin air.

“How was the rest of your day? You feel better?”

Stiles fumbled with the plastic wrapped toothpicks next to the sweeteners. “I tried to reach Scott, but he wasn’t answering.”

“Didn’t you tell me he would be going to visit his aunt with his mother today?” The Sheriff folded the menu in two and put it back on the table.

Aha.

“Oh, right, of course,” Stiles said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I guess he didn’t take his phone with him or something.”

“Or maybe he didn’t have his phone because you accidentally broke it a week ago?”

The Sheriff pulled up an eyebrow

“Mhh. That might be the explanation, yes.”

His dad’s eyes focused on him. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not making much sense today.”

“I just slept badly. Some weird dreams.” It was true, anyway.

The waiter stopped at their table. Caesar salad for the Sheriff, and a fajita for Stiles. 

Stiles wondered if he could trick this magic layer or whatever it was. Not think about what he was going to say, and then just blurt something out.

“So, how was work? Everything calm on the police front?”

His Dad nodded, “Yes, actually. We found some more information on those two burglaries. Hopefully we’ll get more leads so we can catch them soon.”

“My Dad, the hero.” Stiles smiled.

“God. It’s been a real long time since anything,” he lowered his voice, “ _wolfy_ has happened.” His Dad shook his head, as if he still couldn’t quite grasp the idea of werewolves. Stiles thought of the best way to phrase his next question without getting cut off by magic. “Yeah, it has. Gosh, how long has it been now?” Score.

The Sheriff let out a breath and looked sideways. Lucy’s was pretty full tonight, everyone craving the homey ambience and delicious foods. People were talking, laughing, discussing and drinking and eating. Some tune played in the background. The walls were decorated with images of stars of the fifties and bright, colorful ads. Betty Boop was holding a pink milkshake and looking up innocently.

His Dad grunted. “Must be more than a year now.”

 _Wow._ It was almost impossible to imagine it, let alone live it. The last two years of his life had been one shit storm after another, a never-ending cycle of danger and fear. If this was a possible universe, he would gladly take it. 

The waiter came by with their food.  He soon discovered that yes, the food was as good as always.

“Dad, I’ve got-,” _to talk about what happened to me yesterday._ Nope. Magic was pretty astute, he concluded.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Humpf. “Can you pass me the sauce, please?”

  


Night was starting to fall around the time they got home. The moon shone brightly. No full moon. He remembered some photos in a closet at the end of the hall.

“I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, I’m gonna head on up. Goodnight.”

“G’night.” His Dad disappeared up the staircase.

Stiles entered the living room, grabbed a big pillow, then walked towards the end of the hallway and stopped when he reached the dark brown piece of furniture. He propped the cushion up against the wall, and after having taken the big photo book from the middle drawer, he sat down.

As he skimmed through the book, he realized they were all there. All the photos his mother and his father had taken when he was younger, and the ones he insisted on taking himself, _hello beautiful creativity._ The ones featuring only himself and his father when his mother didn’t want to be in the picture anymore. She was adamant about it. She didn’t want them to remember her like that. Sick and hurting. She wanted their memories to be filled with the woman smiling a beautiful, healthy, hearty smile. And it was a beautiful smile. Stiles, though it hurt to look at them, frequently found himself staring at some of the pictures for hours. There was one he especially loved. It was one he had taken when he had called himself ‘the secret photographer’. Which was basically tiny little Stiles creeping behind couches or trees to catch you on camera. The phase hadn’t lasted long. He wasn’t patient enough. Next to the hundreds of ridiculously bad and uninteresting photos was one magical one:

The doors between the kitchen and the living room had been open, and he had indeed been creeping behind a couch, camera in hand. His parents were sitting at the table, peeling potatoes for dinner. Stiles couldn’t remember what they had been talking about, but at one point his Dad commented on something and his mother burst out laughing. He had immediately clicked the red button, surprising his Mom and Dad with a flash.

He loved the picture. They were sitting opposite each other, his father smiling and peeling, his mother laughing and holding a half peeled potato in the air. He couldn’t help but smile every time he looked at it. He missed her so much. Many of his waking hours had been spent imagining a life where his mom was still alive. It was torture and pleasure at the same time. He felt happy thinking about his mother alive, talking to him, joking with him, loving him. But it was all the more cruel every time he woke up from his daydreams. She was not coming back. It had taken a long time for that to fully sink in, but sometimes his heart betrayed him and he fell back into his daydreams.

He shuffled through more pictures. At the end of the book there was a small folder with photos he hadn’t seen before. Pictures of him, Scott, Lydia, Derek, his father, Allison, some people he didn’t recognize, Isaac, and Scott’s mother. They weren’t very special. Just everyday pictures. He wondered if he had been playing ‘the secret photographer’ again.

There was a picture of Lydia and Allison holding up their diplomas. Allison with her fist in air and Lydia laughing. One of Scott with a diploma in hand and his mother, whose mouth was open in a wide smile and whose eyes were full of tears. Isaac standing proud and tilting his graduation cap with a large smile. There was one of himself and his Dad, both grinning like idiots. One of all the graduates together. One of Lydia, Isaac and Derek playing some intense card game. One of Allison’s face unbelievably close to the camera, basically shoving her nose into the lens. Scott sleeping on the couch. Himself pulling a strange face. Derek reading a book. Himself holding up a spatula close to his mouth and engaging in some passionate singing. Derek and him standing next to each other, smiling. And there was one of all of them together, minus Stiles, sitting at a kitchen table, like the photo he'd found upstairs. It was obvious he had caught them off guard here. Allison was pointing her finger at the camera, and everyone had differing looks on their face, varying from annoyed, to smiling, to a blank look.

Stiles felt ridiculously content and fuzzy for a minute. It felt like he missed something he had never even had. No crazy dreams, no psychotic alphas. Just diplomas and dinners.

A wave of tiredness washed over him. He rubbed his eyes, let out a deep sigh. He returned the pillow to the couch and dragged himself upstairs. It was still warm, and he slept with the window open for the first time in a long time.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Unfortunately his dreams weren’t peaceful. He kept seeing flashes of events that he didn’t recognize. It was if he knew they were real, but they were wrong. Everything was very chaotic and blurry. He dreamt about his friends, about a big auditorium full of people. About driving on an unfamiliar road. He saw Lydia and Scott preparing food. He saw Derek reading books, and books and books, and gigantic bookcases full of them. He dreamed of Derek kissing him, touching him in all the right places and it feeling good. For some reason he accepted all these images flooding through his mind, but he was barely aware of it being a dream. It didn’t feel fake or wrong somehow. _Stiles. Stiles._ His dreams were interrupted. Things became clearer. He was aware of the blurry shapes, the strange things fading into each other then turning into something else as they sometimes do in dreams. _Stiles. You’re dreaming. It’s Lea._ He tried to focus on the shape in front of him. Yes, it was Lea. Her outline became sharp and her voice clear.

  
 _Stiles, are you all right?_

  _I don’t really know. Wait. Why are you in my dream?_

_It’s the only way I can communicate with you right now. Are you not freaking out too badly?_

He tried to move forward, but felt like he was treading through layers and layers of sand.  
  
 _I’m … better than I thought I would be._

_Good, okay. I hope you don’t still think I’m an evil sorceress or something._

He didn’t know what to answer. Her face was a little blurry, like she was moving really quickly. He couldn’t get a grasp on it.

_Stiles, I promise you won’t be here too long. It’ll be over as soon as you understand._  
  
Well, what if that’s never? 

_It won’t be. Trust me.  Try to go with it, don’t fight everything too much, it’ll be a lot easier if you don’t. Just look and listen._ She smiled at him. She faded into nothingness.

The rest of his night’s sleep was calm.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

 

In the morning, he decided to go over to Scott’s place. The green bike was parked in their driveway. He sprinted upstairs and ripped Scott’s door open to find the dude staring at him in surprise. Of course, werewolf hearing. 

“Whoa, what’s wrong, Stiles?”

“Scott! Dude-,” his throat closed up, _nnnnggh, God! This is beyond_ _annoying! My God! Aaaargh._ He was clamping his teeth together, mouth pressed tightly shut. 

Scott took a few steps forward, eyes slightly confused. Stiles had just thought of something. Why hadn’t he tried it before? He smacked himself on the forehead. He grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper from Scott’s desk and tried to write. Emphasis on the _tried._ Apparently Lea’s magic was strong. The words that were supposed to say _I’m from the past. I got guinea-pigged in magic! Help!_  were just a bunch of weird lines and small broken up shapes. He remembered what Lea had said, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to try.

“What is that supposed to be? If that’s art or something, it’s not very good.”

“It’s not art, Scott!” It was a relief each time his voice started working again. 

Stiles sighed. “-,” _The past, Scott! The goddamn past!_ He felt like screaming. “I, oh, never god- damn- mind.”

Stiles went to sit on Scott’s bed.

“Right.” Scott was frowning at him, and he looked as if he expected Stiles to say something more. When Stiles didn’t, Scott just declared, “Okay. I called the others

and tonight it’s my place, around seven.”

“What’s tonight? Oh, and have you seen my phone by any chance?” “No, sorry. Probably left it at the loft.”

Wait. _The_ loft. Which loft? As far as he knew, they only knew one loft, Derek’s. 

 “What, why-,” _would I have left it at Derek’s goddamn loft._ Okay, seriously, what the _hell?!_ Magic, you are one mysterious thing. Scott seemed not to have heard what he said. Or rather, hadn’t said.

“I’m thinking pasta. We all know I’m not that good of a cook, so, yeah.”

“Right. Yeah. Pasta. When is this?”

“Dude, I just said it like five seconds ago. My place, tonight? Oh, and my cousin loaned me this new video game, we should totally check that out today. You’re staying, right?”

“Uh, I guess so.” Stiles didn’t know what else he’d do anyways. Things were starting to look a little hopeless. As they played video games, went to the store to buy dinner, and ate lunch, Stiles kept trying to speak up about Lea, but he was thwarted each time. The only way he held onto his sanity was by focusing on the fact that the boy he had known forever and the one in front of him seemed to be the same.

Scott and Stiles were idling about in the kitchen. It was some time after seven.

“Man, what a day,” said Stiles.

“Yeah.. Wait, what do you mean?”

What Stiles meant was, he hadn’t had thing kind of day in a long time. Just doing nothing of importance, enjoying everyday non-supernatural activities. True, he was the one that went out that one night looking for a dead body. He was the one out for an adventure. That night seemed like years ago. But the adventure turned into a pile of nightmares and dead bodies, and though he couldn’t deny that it had sometimes been exciting and that his life was far from boring, he missed the peace. The quiet, the normal.

“Nothing. Just the general summer awesomeness.”

Scott nodded and smiled.

“I’ll be right back,” said Scott.

“’Kay.”

As soon as Scott was gone, Stiles let out a silent groan (werewolf hearing), his face twisting into a diverse range of expressions. This situation was just … indescribable. 

The doorbell rang. He heard Scott yell from upstairs, “could you open the door?” Stiles went to the door, opened it and there were Isaac, Allison and Lydia. Lydia, with short hair

“Your hair… it’s … short!” She looked at him as if he were the daftest person alive.

“Yeah. As it has been for a few days now. Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

A bubble of nervous laughter escaped his lips. “I just might.”

Her hair was still the same red, just as fiery as her personality. But now it reached just below her ears, wavy and glamorous. It was shorter around the back. It looked amazing. She rolled her eyes, let out a sigh, and the three of them walked in, heading for the living room. Stiles followed them. He kept staring. Never in his life had he seen Lydia with short hair.

He was going to try to talk to them too. It probably wouldn’t work, but he decided to give it a go anyways. “Hey guys. I wanted to-,” _tell you something very important that happened to me yesterday._ Well, that didn’t go very well. His mouth opened and closed and he probably looked like a fish or something. Did the magic know when he was going to say something that wouldn’t be right to them?  He cleared his throat, and went in another direction. “I wanted to know if … anyone’s a vegetarian,” he finished weakly.

Isaac answered. “None of us are. Or have ever been. And you know that. Right?”

He tried to look sheepish, “Right, of course. Just, uh, checking.” Great, now everyone thought he was an idiot.

Lydia directed herself to Isaac and was saying how disappointing the new swimming pool of Beacon Hills was. She and Allison had gone yesterday. Too many screeching children and too much chlorine, and only one lifeguard their age who was about as dumb as he was pretty, which was very. Conversation soon switched to some new movie and of course turned into complete gibberish to Stiles, who sighed, groaned, and returned to the kitchen, where he found Scott with a big grin on his face, holding an enormous bag of spaghetti in his hand.

The planned meal wasn’t elaborate. Pasta Bolognese. Stiles offered a helping hand and that’s how he and Scott ended up in the kitchen while Isaac, Lydia, and Allison stayed in the living room.

“Good God, that’s a lot of pasta!” Stiles exclaimed. He was tempted to make a wolf joke, but then decided against it. Too obvious. Scott took a gigantic pan out of the wooden closet next to the oven.

“Yeah, and just think of how much sauce we’ll need. Here,” Scott gave him another pan.

Stiles eyed him curiously. “So this is a recurring thing, then?”

Scott looked at him blankly.

“The getting together? All of us, “ Stiles said. He really didn’t understand these time travel rules. He could say this, but not that. Wonder aloud about this but not about the exact date? None of it made any sense. And now Scott was looking at him as if he didn’t make any sense. And it didn’t to them, of course.

“Have you not been alive for the past year or something? Did you hit your head again?” Scott’s voice dripped with sarcasm. And what was with the head hitting? Was that a recurring thing as well?

“Well, I-,” _actually just time travelled, but hey, nothing seems majorly wrong._ Internal sigh. _Well, great. Back to square one._

“Never mind. Let’s get started,” said instead.

Stiles took the tomatoes, carrots and the meat from the refrigerator, a cutting board and a knife, and started working. 

For some reason, Stiles was calm. His initial freak-out from the day before had dimmed down, and he was considering the fact that the girl who'd sent him here may not be evil. Or at least nothing had indicated this time swoosh was something of that nature. He didn’t feel on edge, nor did anybody else seem to. No one was freaking out. In fact, up until what he’d seen, everyone seemed … grounded, somehow. Calmer. Not worrying about death dallying around the corner.

Music played in the background. Good vibrations. The doorbell sounded. Who else were they expecting? Scott’s mom was working tonight, and she had a key anyway. The twins?

“Hey, Stiles, can you pass me that knife?” Scott sat at the table and was starting on the tomatoes while the water was boiling. Stiles passed him the knife. 

He returned to the minced meat, loosening the large chunks with a wooden spoon. He leaned against the counter with his back turned to Scott.

“You know, I think we should do some lacrosse again this summer,” Scott said, “get some practice done. It’s been way too long.” Right, they were all 3 years older now, and probably in college? It made him wonder, did he and Scott go to the same college? Did any of them? Us?

“Sounds like a plan, my man.” How long did Lea say this was going to last? Until he’d understood what he was here for. He sighed. Cryptic people. The kitchen door opened. “Need some help?”

That was Derek’s voice. Stiles twisted his head around. Yep, that was Derek.

“Nah, we’re all good,” Scott answered.

“Hey,” said Stiles, before refocusing on the food. Was Derek part of their group-pack-whatever? And he seemed polite. And Scott seemed polite in return. How did everyone get so polite?

Out of nowhere two lips kissed his neck. “Hey.”

Stiles froze, wooden spoon in mid-air. He didn’t notice the body returning back to the kitchen door, nor his best friend saying something about dinnertime. He didn’t notice Scott complaining about the current song on the radio, nor the station being changed. 

What. the. hell. was. that. He glanced over at his friend, who seemed undisturbed by the fact that _Derek had just kissed his best friend._ On the counter he saw his phone. 

He was sure his eyes were about as wide open as they could get without his eyeballs falling out of their sockets.

Scott looked at him strangely, “What? What’s going on?”

This time it wasn’t magic mojo stopping him from speaking, he literally couldn’t get a word out. “Wh-That… That was- That is not ... Does … I-,” He spluttered and stuttered and Scott looked increasingly confused.

“Am I-,“ _together with Derek in this universe?!_ Magic mojo, hello. Perfect timing as always. Huh, guess that explains the dream.

“Are you okay? You look like you could be a cartoon character.”

Stiles blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. He pointed his finger at Scott. “I gotta pee.” He needed something. Some air, or some space or something. He left the kitchen in a hurry and went to the bathroom. The face looking back at him in the mirror looked shell shocked, and his cheeks were covered with a heavy blush. He opened the window and took a deep breath. Unfortunately it wasn’t winter, and the air really wasn’t that much cooler. This was boggling his mind! Derek! And him! And neck kissing. And it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as he thought that could be. It was actually nice. And … just … well. Wow. Different.

His thoughts flickered to his dream. She had told him to trust the situation, which altogether didn’t sound too trustworthy. His mind was telling him that he should be doing everything to get back to 3 years earlier, but he couldn’t help but feel differently. He didn’t feel panicked anymore. He felt … calm. Things weren’t chaotic and didn’t feel dangerous. Was he feeling the way future Stiles was feeling? If so, he decided it that wasn’t too shabby. It was pleasant. Good, even. 

After a couple of minutes, he made a decision: it wasn’t like he could tell them about the past, and everything was working against him in that department. He’d better just pretend nothing was wrong. He decided to do what the girl had told him, look and listen. But to what? At what?

“I’m fine,” said Stiles as he re-entered the kitchen. “Nothin’ wrong!”

“Uh-kay.” Scott had finished with the tomatoes and carrots, and was stirring everything into one big pile of mush, along with the now ready meat. The pasta was cooking. Once everything was done, they set the table.

They entered the living room, where Stiles saw a scene he never, ever, _ever,_ thought he would see. MC Hammer’s _U Can’t Touch This_ was playing, and in the middle of the room Allison and Isaac were showing some moves. Scratch that, _owning_ some moves. They were following the clip on the TV, and extraordinarily, they could sort of follow. Lydia was laughing, and Derek just kind of sat there, sort of smiling but also looking half a second away from an eye roll.  _Every time you see me, The Hammer’s just hype, I’m dope on the floor and I’m magic on the mic._ He couldn’t help himself, he laughed. Derek looked up, catching his eye. 

“Nice moves, Lahey,” Stiles said, genuinely. Shockingly, Isaac didn’t give a comeback with snark, but just laughed harder. This may have been the first time I’ve seen him like this, Stiles thought. This was all so different than what he was used to. When the song was over, Allison and Isaac were out of breath. Well, Allison mostly. Fit physique comes with the whole being a werewolf thing.

“Wooh! That was fun,” Allison said. She looked cheery and happy, and the frequently recurring frown that had creased her forehead for the past year was gone. 

“Dinner is served,” Scott announced. He had a goofy smile on his face. Enthusiasm from the group sounded, and soon they were all sitting around the kitchen table, a little bit cramped. Derek was sitting right next to him, their knees touching. It freaked Stiles out a little how much this didn’t freak him out. Derek was still wearing mainly dark clothes. Stiles would have bet his life on it that he would find the same worn out leather jacket hanging on a hook next to the door in the hallway. 

Everyone was babbling loudly about summer and college, oblivious to the fact that one of the six people at the table was from another time. Some ten minutes into the meal the scene before him left him silent. The topic was currently weird teachers. Everyone was participating in the conversation, laughing at jokes, eating and drinking. The person next to him he’d thought didn’t possess a social bone in his body was currently telling a story of how his psychology professor in college once planted himself on top of a closet to see what the reaction of his students would be. Everyone laughed, including Stiles, who couldn’t keep the grin off his face while he stared at Derek. The conversation went on, but Derek turned his face towards Stiles, offering him a big smile. Stiles thought he might just suffer a heart attack. Well, this was a first. And a good one. 

Stiles smiled right back. Derek was about halfway to his face when Scott said “Hey, you two, keep it in your pants.” Stiles’ head whipped out of his little reverie while Isaac added “Yeah, for once.” Oh my god, they were making sex jokes about them and he wasn’t even actually part of it. Was he? This was confusing.

“Ha ha,” Derek replied dryly. But a hint of a smile was detectable and he just planted a kiss on the side of Stiles’ face before returning to his pasta. Stiles’ heart was hammering just a tiny little bit, and he probably looked a little unbalanced, but no one was paying any particular attention to him, anyways. Were they used to this, then? 

The rest of the meal was spent talking about everyone’s summer plans. Working, or the beach, or in Derek’s case, staying in Beacon Hills and _apparently_ spending a week with Stiles road tripping. Good god. Stiles had strategically been slurping his drink so he wouldn’t have to answer, because obviously he didn’t know what his summer plans were. But then Derek mentioned what apparently they would be doing, _together_ , and he chocked on his coke. He coughed loudly. Four times. Tears blinded him.

“Jeez, are you okay?” Allison’s voice was tainted with mirth.

“Yeah, yeah,” cough, cough, “just, uh, coke just went the wrong way.” Jeez, that coke stung. The others went on talking. He and Derek were pretty serious, apparently. He looked over at Derek, who was looking at Scott who was talking about his summer job. Man. He thought any attempt at flirting with Derek Hale was probably met with a scowl and, well, a non-answer in general. Huh. He had to hand it to future Stiles. Himself. Heh. 

After dinner everyone settled in front of the TV. Lydia had brought a new movie with her, which, just, great, Stiles was now not able to see. It was basically just muffled voices and blurry shapes. The scene must look comical, he thought. Six people staring at a screen. Five of them actually reacting to what was happening, and then one dude just kind of staring. He decided to use the time to think instead. Look and listen, right? Derek was sitting next to him, toying absently with the small zipper of the sleeve of Stiles’ hoodie. Stiles was studying the movement. Too strange. He couldn’t believe how comfortable Derek seemed around him, unlike most –well, no, all- of the two years or so he had known him. Derek was so absorbed in the movie he didn’t notice Stiles investigating. He continued looking around. All of them were engrossed with the movie. Damn. He really wanted to watch along.

His eyes drifted towards Isaac, who was openly laughing at something, soon joined by the entire group. Stiles must’ve looked like a sourpuss, being the only one not laughing.

“You okay?” Derek asked. 

“I’m just tired is all.” He wasn’t even lying. Blame it on the emotional whiplash. He took a deep breath and motioned at Derek to look at the screen. Which he actually did. Wow. 

It turned out Stiles wasn’t all that good at the stop, look and listen. He tried, he did. But then he laid his head against the couch and kind of drifted off, only to be awoken two hours later. The movie was over and the clock pointers indicated it was eleven thirty. Stiles yawned widely and rubbed his eyes. 

“Phew.. Man,” he said, followed by stretching. He caught Derek glancing at the strip of bare skin above his jeans. _Mmh._ He wiggled his eyebrows at Derek without calculating the move. Leftover future Stiles? Or maybe just Stiles? He didn’t know anymore. _Try to go with it, don’t fight everything too much, it’ll be a lot easier if you don’t,_ she had said. He might as well.  

Everyone around him seemed to be in a kind of slumber, just lying on couches like a sack of potatoes. This was pleasant. Derek shifted, and now their sides were completely touching. 

“Hey, Scott, d’you have some of that ice cream left from last week?” Isaac asked a few of minutes later. Scott lifted his head, “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Ooh,” said Allison, “can we have some?”  

“Totally.” Everyone got up at a slow pace and moved to the kitchen. Derek nudged him towards the hall. He dragged Stiles away for a second, barely giving him time to realize what was happening before planting a kiss on his lips. Stiles’ heart did a somersault. Derek’s hand were on his sides, his back, his neck. Stiles was kind of stiff as a board before remembering _don’t fight everything too much,_ and even so, he was surprised at how good it felt. He was surprised that he seemed to know what he was doing. One hand had somehow drifted to Derek’s neck, the other was on his arm, gripping with force. The kiss deepened and soon they were breathing out of sync, breath catchy and shallow. Stiles could barely focus anymore on what was actually happening to him. He was too distracted by lips against his, a body pushed against his.

Derek pulled away, and Stiles opened his eyes to see two fading electric blue irises focused on him. Derek was grinning and his cheeks were tinged with pink. 

“Glad to know you aren’t bored of me yet,” he said. Stiles took a deep breath, “Yeah, no, no … not bored, at _all._ ” 

“Ice cream?” 

“Yeah. Just a second.” Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to enter a kitchen with a boner. Derek looked down and let out huff of laughter.

When they finally got to the kitchen, no one even made a comment, completely surprising him. Maybe they were all too busy stuffing their faces to notice. They were used to it, then. 

Soon after, the group scattered, and everyone went home. 

“I’m bringing the Camaro home,” Derek told him. 

“Okay,” he replied, though it sounded more like a half question on his part than anything else. Stiles and Derek were walking to their cars. Before opening his Jeep, Stiles turned around. Derek was by his side. He kissed Stiles again. Derek moved away and headed to the black vehicle parked on the other side of the street.

Stiles came home and decided to try to sleep immediately, hoping he would see Lea. He had so many questions, but at the same time he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was he wanted to ask. 

Sleep came, but no dreams. It was a deep sleep.

It was maybe somewhat of a shock, but definitely not a wholly unpleasant one, to find Derek’s arm flapped over his chest while the guy’s face was squished against a pillow. Their toes touched. Morning sunlight illuminated the room. The initial heart attack of finding another person in his own bed disappeared. It seemed Derek was a heavy sleeper. He didn’t awake when Stile untangled himself, nor while Stiles took a shower. What did awaken him was a mug of coffee held under his nose by his, _apparently,_ boyfriend. It felt unreal thinking it. But then again, was it real? An alternate future. With the way things were going, Stiles almost didn’t want to leave. Who does when you feel warm and fuzzy and you get to have an adult sleepover with a sex god? Pouah. 

He hadn’t really realized he was making coffee _for_ Derek. It was just something he had started doing. The kitchen had been empty, sunlight pouring in, slowly and heavily heating up the room as he waited for the coffee to get ready. Anyhow, that’s how he ended sitting upright in his own bed, holding a steaming cup under Derek’s nose, watching the wake up process. It was kind of funny. Derek groaned, turning his head the other way. Some muffled sounds.

“Sorry, didn’t _quite_ catch that. No werewolf hearing, you know.” Innocence incarnate. Derek moved around some more, making more incoherent sounds. 

“All right, sourwolf. But I’ll be the one drinking _your_ cup of coffee.”

“Don’t.”

“Pff, I don’t see why not, I made it.” He slurped noisily, half burning his tongue in the process, letting out a _mmh_ noise. Derek turned around, and let out a deep breath. He sat up and yawned. Then Stiles held out the cup, which Derek accepted, expressing quiet thanks. Derek was wearing a deep green shirt and actual pajama bottoms. Derek freaking Hale was in his bed, drinking his coffee, wearing comfy pajamas. Stiles Stilinski, at loss for words, he never thought he’d see the day.  
Stiles was just about to ask if it was a regular thing, the climbing into his bed during the middle of the night, when he remembered to _just go with it. Look and listen._ Now what did he see? He saw the man who he had always thought was just waiting for a nervous breakdown completely relaxed, drinking from a coffee cup which had the words ‘Howdy, partner’ on it. He saw relaxed eyes look up at him. He heard a sound coming from Derek like when someone just woke up, a scratchy noise while he cleared his throat. Oh God, he was never going to be able to look at Derek in the same way again, was he?

“So, what are the plans for today?” Stiles asked.

“I gotta get to work soon. I thought maybe you could come over at the loft after?”  
“Sure. When-ish?” He couldn’t wait to snoop around. 

“I’ll probably be home around six.” 

“Okay.” Derek gave Stiles the rest of the coffee as he got up, took some clothes from a bag and started getting changed. Stiles almost felt like an intruder looking at he body in front of him. But also, he couldn’t stop himself. Muscles laced Derek’s arms and back. The tattoo on his back had always fascinated him. Stiles was still sitting cross-legged on his bed when Derek was fully changed. Derek grabbed a toothbrush from his bag, left Stiles’ bedroom and Stiles followed him to the bathroom. He leaned against the doorframe watching Derek put some toothpaste on the toothbrush. Derek caught his eye in the mirror. “What?” he asked.

Stiles must’ve had a different expression on his face than he thought. He thought he’d been doing good, he’d hoped his face hadn’t given anything away. Like he was used to all of this. 

“Nothing. Brush.” Derek just gave him a look. 

“You’re not your usual blabbermouthy self. Something wrong?” 

“No. Nothing’s wrong. Everything is _good._ ” Stiles shook his head and grabbed his own toothbrush. Thank God he always insisted on buying a green one. He didn’t want to use his Dad’s by accident, or Derek noticing he didn’t even know which toothbrush was his own.

When they walked down the stairs, Derek made a slight detour to the kitchen, and said “Good morning, Sheriff,” stopping Stiles in his tracks. “Morning,” his Dad answered.  
“I have to hurry, see you tonight,” Derek added to Stiles. Derek was gone two seconds later.  
Stiles was standing on the threshold between the hallway and the kitchen, watching his Dad bent over a newspaper. Huh.

“Hiya Dad.” 

“Hiya son.”

The Sheriff showed no signs of concern or disapproval. He had to ask. He had to.  
“So, you’re okay with it then? You approve? Of Derek and me? Together?” he asked, incredulous.  
A slightly irritated look crossed his Dad’s face. “Jeez, son. All the times we’ve talked about this. You know where I stand on this. You’re a grownup now. You can be with whomever you want, whether I approve or not. Do we have to have this whole discussion again?” Okay, so maybe his Dad didn’t approve one hundred percent. That was probably too much to ask. His Dad got up, went to the fridge and took out some juice.

“Nope! Absolutely not,” he offered.

His Dad opened his mouth, closed it again and opened it again. He looked uncomfortable. “I know I may not always be the smoothest parent on this point, but for what it’s worth, you seem happy, so, I … respect your decision.”

“I do, huh?” Unbelievable, he was jealous of his future self.

“Anyways, what are you planning to do today?”

“Mmh… I don’t know. What do I usually do?” he wondered aloud, avoiding magic by making it sound like a rhetorical question. Apparently what he usually did was spend his mornings in bed, and the rest of the day with Scott, or play videogames, or with Derek. Basically being lazy as hell and enjoying it, which seemed like a heavenly change from what he was used to, so he just went with it.

-

Curiosity and excitement got the better of him and he ended up at Derek’s loft half an hour early. He cursed himself. Of course no one was opening the door. Derek was not actually there yet. An idea sprung to mind. Could it be…? He got his keys out looked at the three he didn’t recognize. The blue one didn’t fit, nor did the small one, but the third one slid into the keyhole with a soft _tink_. Neat. The place was deserted. Obviously. Still, he couldn’t help but call out for Derek, just to make sure he was alone. No answer. 

Great. Snoop time. He’d never been here on his own, and the place had undergone some drastic changes. Now you could actually speak _of_ an interior. Couches, cutlery, CDs stacked on top of one another next to a TV, an actual plant and two bookcases full of literature. He couldn’t believe how much books there were. How the hell had Derek accumulated this many in just a couple of years? He hadn’t even known Derek liked to read. Stiles realized he barely knew anything personal about him, apart from the tragic family history. He didn’t know what Derek did in his free time. And truthfully, he had never thought about it. Or bothered to ask about it. He moved towards the closets. Some titles he recognized, but most of them he’d never heard of. A soft red spine caught his attention. He got the book out, opened it, and out fell a photo. It was a picture of them. They were both looking at the camera, smiling. They looked happy. Had he known this picture was hidden away between the pages of this book? He must have. On the back were a few words, and he recognized his own handwriting.

 _Happy birthday, grumpy! May the picture forever remind you of happy times._  
S  
  
At the bottom was written in small letters _On the occasion of your 25_ _th_ _birthday, 2017._ Stiles did some calculating. Wow. He’d never realized Derek was so young. He carefully slid the photograph in the book, and put it back on the shelf.  

On the other side of the room was the spiral stairwell. He’d never been upstairs. There was one big room and a smaller one, probably a bathroom. The big room was a bedroom. It was relatively empty, just a bed, a desk and chair, and some closets. Stiles opened one. Of course there were mostly dark colored clothes, but he also spotted a small pile of his own clothing. A couple of shirts, some underwear, socks and pajamas. He touched the familiar material. On the bed stand the clock indicated Derek would probably be arriving soon. He sat down on the bed, wondering how many hours he’d spent in it. It was a comfortable bed. He lay down for a couple of minutes. As far as he knew, no one else lived in the building. It was quiet all around. Actually dead quiet. That was probably why Derek had chosen it. Stiles had never really considered how annoying it must be to live someplace near other people and be able to hear every single thing they did. He let his thoughts wander.

 He went back downstairs and sat at the kitchen table. He was once again absorbed in thought when he heard the door open. Derek didn’t seem surprised to see him, and he probably wasn’t. Be it werewolf hearing or routine, Stiles didn’t know.

“Hiya,” Stiles offered.

“Hey.”

Derek sighed.

“Rough day at work, honey?”

Derek sort of grunted.

What was it Derek actually did, anyways? 

“-,” _what exactly is your job._ Magic mojo, damn you! He guessed it _would_ be kind of weird for Derek to realize Stiles didn’t know what his job was. And Stiles was dying to ask how long they had been together, but his throat clamped shut. 

Derek spoke, “What do you feel like eating? I think I have some leftover Chinese.”  
“That’s not what I’m hungry for.” It was out before he could think about it. He felt heat creeping up to his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that! Derek just wiggled his eyebrows, grinned and ran at him with inhuman speed. Literally inhuman. Thank God Stiles had got up before and was now standing in front of Derek’s couch, which provided him a soft landing. Well, about as soft as it can get with a werewolf basically slamming into you. Derek started kissing him, low noises coming deep from his chest. It probably should have creeped Stiles out a little bit, the way Derek was almost growling, but the strange thing was, it didn’t. They went on kissing for a while, both their hands roaming free, touching and feeling, gripping and groping, until the next growl came from Stiles’ stomach instead. Stiles felt dazed. Derek was out of breath. 

“Mmh… We should eat something.”

“I second that. And actually, Chinese sounds pretty damn good.” 

-

After eating the leftovers they ended up on Derek’s couch again, legs tangled. Derek wasn’t very talkative. Stiles could see he had changed, but this was still the same. Stiles kind of liked it. He was lying on top of Derek, head resting on Derek’s chest. The windows were open, and the slightest breeze cooled him down just a little bit. Werewolves tended to be warm. Not that he was complaining. 

“We seem so different than a few years ago.” Stiles’ voice was quiet. He felt as if he could fall asleep right there and then.

“Yeah. I guess your advice worked.”

“My advice?”

“You remember. After yelling about us never being able to work together, always bickering and never getting anywhere. Messing up everything in the process.” They were silent for a couple of seconds. 

“I guess everything really did work out,” Derek said.

“Yeah.. yeah, I guess it can.”

“Can?”  
  
“Did.” Stiles smiled at him.

He was going to miss this. Even though none of this had actually happened. Could this alternate future become his future? Was it possible? A tingly feeling in his chest told him it was definitely what he wanted. 

Suddenly a guitar started playing. It was faint, but audible. _My love must be a kind of blind love. I can’t see anyone but you._ He looked around but saw no radio. 

“Do you hear that?”

Derek lifted one eyebrow. “Hear what?” Stiles craned his neck, looked up and sideways, but it seemed as if the song was coming from all directions. _Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright._

“Stiles, what are you talking about?” It was getting louder now. 

“That song! You don’t hear that?” 

“Hear what? There’s nothing playing,” Derek looked at him as if he were crazy. Stiles got up from the couch, and walked to the middle of the room. But things got stranger. The song was echoing slightly. It was like surround sound. Derek came up next to him, touching his arm. They were standing in the middle of the loft, the city lights shining in the background. “Stiles? Stiles.” 

He could barely register it. The room was slowly spinning. Or he was, he couldn’t tell. “Derek, I think I’m going …” And then the same thing happened. White spots, heat, now he couldn’t see anymore. Derek’s touches became faint until they completely faded. Then everything went dark.

-

… _have eyes, for you, dear. I don’t know if, we’re in a garden or on a crowded avenue._

Stiles’ eyes fluttered open. He felt completely disoriented. He was back in his room, on his bed. His bedroom door was open and music sounded from downstairs. He got up and went to the nearest mirror. Shorter hair. He was back. Lea was nowhere in sight. He pinched himself. Okay, definitely not a dream.  With slightly shaky legs he went downstairs and found his Dad in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The music came from the radio.

“Look who’s up. Wanna help?” 

Stiles nodded, dumbfounded. He walked over to the fridge. 2014. Thank God. 

“I’ll be back in a second,” he said. Slowly, as if in a daze, he walked towards the end of the hall. There was no folder in the photo book.

“Stiles.” His head jumped up. Lea was standing in front of him. 

“What the hell! How do you just appear out of thin air like that? And how long was I out?” It all came gushing out. Lea took a step forward. “Not long. Barely more than an hour.”

“Right. Okay. Wow. I can’t believe that just actually happened,” he stated.  

“I know, it can be a little … confusing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it had to be you, but I thought that was best.”

She added, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m just a little thrown off track, I guess.” He rubbed his temples and let out a big gulp of air. His hands raked through his hair and clamped themselves behind his head. 

“I’m so sorry I used you. I really am. I was just desperate. And afraid you wouldn’t listen.” Lea sounded sincere. “You saw how it could turn out. In the future. This life you have, it doesn’t have to be that way. Do you understand now what needs to happen? You need to get over your issues and work together. Become an actual pack. My guess is this wouldn’t have been the first time working together didn’t work out, nor the last. You _need_ to work together. This the only way I can save my baby brother.” Her voice chocked on the last two words. She looked at him with pleading eyes, tears threatening to fall overboard. Stiles remembered feeling utterly lost and panicked at the thought of having lost both his parents.   

He still wasn’t sure if he could trust her. But he realized that didn’t really matter. He was sick of worrying about everyone, especially worrying about his father. He couldn’t lose his father. He was sick about bickering and fighting, and disagreements and distrust. It was a poisonous way of living, causing more trouble than solving it. Was there really a way to get rid of the constant fear and countless death threats? If there was a remote possibility to get to that future, he was damn well going to try to get there. And he knew where to start. Or who to start with.

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *'That's not what I'm hungry for' is from American Horror Story.


End file.
